Page 70 of Off The Ice
“Maggie Brynn?”
“Oh.” She typed away, eyes still glued to her screen as she spoke. “You mean Margaret.”
I snorted. I was pretty sure the only time someone had referred to Maggie as Margaret was the day our mother had to tell the nurse what to write on the birth certificate. But every moment after that, she’d just been Maggie.
“I guess so,” I said anyway.
Finally, she looked up, eyes flickering with something I recognized as she turned her full attention to me.
“And you are?” she asked, a new flirtatious lilt to her voice.
“Here to see Maggie,” I repeated, unwilling to engage in any of the bullshit.
“Are you her—”
“Brother,” I repeated firmly, with a finality in my tone that I hoped would shut down any further questions. “Is she here?”
I looked around, figuring I apparently needed to find her myself, but all I saw were women trying their best to sneak glances in our direction, not as covertly as I assumed they hoped to be.
“Yes, she’s here,” the receptionist said, making no move to find her. “Are you-?”
“Liam Brynn?” One bold woman dared to approach. “You’re him, right? From the Harbor Wolves?”
I gritted my teeth.
“I’m just here to see my sister,” I said, putting up my best attempt at politeness. “Does anyone know where I can find her?”
“Who’s your sister?” the daring woman asked.
“Margaret.” The receptionist shot her a knowing look.
“Margaret never told us you’re her brother.”
I thought it was irrelevant but offered a shrug.
“Big brothers can be embarrassing.”
The girl laughed, grabbing my arm in a familiar way that had me inching away.
“In fact, I actually think she confirmed youweren’trelated at all… but what are the chances of that? Two Brynns in Boston with no relation to each other?” She laughed airily, her perfume filling the space between us.
Everything about her made me itch to escape, just like I felt around the rest of the women like this, who always proved to make themselves unavoidable. I wondered if they’d do this if I weren’t a famous hockey player. I wondered if they’d still care.
But still, her words twisted something inside of me. I get Maggie not broadcasting our relationship to the world, but straight up denying it? Why the hell would she do that?
“Liam?” Maggie appeared from behind a corner, her brown hair twisted up, dressed impeccably in a way that seemed to match the atmosphere of the building.
“Thank God,” I muttered, pulling away from the handsy woman. “Hey, Mags.”
“What are you doing here?” she said, high heels clicking against the floor as she made her way toward me.
“I wanted to talk to you,” I said at the same time the woman said, “Why didn’t you tell us you have a famous brother?”
Maggie stared at the woman who watched us with evasive eyes, irritation spreading across Maggie’s features.
“Because my brother has nothing to do with my work here,” she retorted, her lips pursed in the way they used to before she’d erupt when we were kids.
“Because he’s, like, a local celebrity,” the woman countered. “You could’ve at least mentioned it.”
